


Silence That I Keep

by Kalla_Moonshado



Series: Conspiracy of Ravens [8]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Blood, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, M/M, Magic, Nightmares, Sleepwalking, Suicide Attempts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: “…Once, just after I… I killed you. Before I l-left Karazhan. Once, during the war, on the walls of Stormwind in her defense. Once, on the long trip to Lordaeron. Three times, as we followed the Horde north. Four times in Outland. Once in Northrend. Twice in Draenor.” Khadgar paused, and Medivh waited. “Twice, before I … Before I returned here and found you again a-and…” He drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “Once after.”Sixteen times, Khadgar attempted to forfeit his life. Sixteen times denied.Follow-up/prequel/Companion to Bound in Trust.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aluneth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aluneth/gifts), [Sigurdjarlson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigurdjarlson/gifts).



> For Eversong, who was curious, and Sigurdjarlson for egging me on.
> 
> Title taken from "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls.

The sunlight that glided across the room was … familiar. The angle of it brushed across the wall, sliding down it slowly until it glinted off a worktable’s contents, a notebook, a quill, two spare nibs lying beside its stylus, and a crystal ink bottle.

It slowed as it crept toward the bed, then seemed to highlight the entirety at once. The figure lying on it stirred, his arms curled around one of the pillows. He lifted his head, and looked around, blinking.

“Medivh?” Silence met the soft call; the voice not quite what was expected. It was slightly deeper, aged, and a little unsteady.

Memory crashed over him as he looked down at his hands. Tears welled up in the tired eyes and spilled as they closed.

Medivh was dead. By his own hands.

Moroes and Cook were gone as well; he had buried them all behind the tower not hours before.

His heart ached. He tried to sit up further, but instead collapsed back against the bedding, voicing the cries he could not the night before as he’d cried himself to sleep.

He had woken up the morning before a young mage of eighteen.

…He had collapsed here an old man.

He had woken up the morning before the apprentice to a madman, possessed by a demonic entity.

…He had collapsed here a murderer.

He didn’t belong here anymore. He didn’t belong anywhere. The Kirin Tor would want nothing to do with him, not now. What use was he to Stormwind? What use was he to anyone? He was old, frail, and half-trained. Useless.

He sat up, looking around for the gear he had stripped off before he had tried to scrub away the evidence. The runes on the sword still glinted gold, and the blood…

The blood was still there, dried and accusing.

Khadgar looked down at the hands that were too spindly – too old for his age. His eyes slid to the wrists, then back at the runeblade. How long would it take? If he were to just… run his wrists – his own heart even – into the blade… how long would it take him to bleed out? Would it hurt? Would it matter?

Would anyone think to look for him? It wasn’t as though he would be accepted anywhere now; he was too old to be useful anymore.

Besides that, he had driven that blade into the heart of the _Guardian_. Anyone who knew remotely who Medivh had been would know… anyone who didn’t would think he was just the eccentric old mage that was hidden away for years on end, a man who once threw extravagant entertainments in his younger years and became a recluse among his books and artifacts in a tower gone mad with its own power.

Who would think that his apprentice – no, his murderer – was worth anything after that?

He slid off the bed, his legs shaking a little as he tried to get used to the weaknesses of his new body – weaknesses that he thought last night was just exhaustion and shock from what he had done.

His hand curled around the leather-padded grip and he picked the blade up, contemplating it for a long moment. His fingers traced a bit of the blood on it, and he shook his head.

For all that Medivh was strange, for all that he was the Guardian, for all that he was possessed – Khadgar had loved him. He still did.

Was it the right thing to have done? Should he have found another way? The way those green eyes had focused on him as he drove the blade through his master’s heart… his lover’s heart…

Those last words. Thanking him for freeing him. Telling him he’d fought. Telling him…

Khadgar shifted the blade as he knelt on the stone floor, turning it point up and resting it over his heart.

It was only fair.

It was only fitting.

The blade cut into his fingers as he held it steady, his hands convulsing around it as his breathing hitched, fear flooding into him as he started to lean forward.

The sword fell to the ground with a loud clang, shattering the quiet of the room.

He couldn’t do it. Coward that he was, he couldn’t do it.

It was no less than he deserved, and he couldn’t do it.

He stared at the blood dripping from his hands, fascinated by it. The cuts stung, but he did nothing to stop the bleeding.

Shaking, Khadgar got to his feet. If he couldn’t die and join his beloved, then he would have to live, for now. He cleaned the sword with the hem of his robe, ignoring the fresh blood added to old, and sheathed it properly, slung the scabbard belt around himself and fastened it, picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder to rest against the opposite hip.

The night before, he was certain Medivh would want him to continue his education, to finish what was started, to be what he was meant to be.

So be it. He would live.

He set the wards, made the bed, turned and left the room.

He set the rest of the wards as he descended to the ground floor, locked the doors securely, then looked up at the tower that had been his home – his hopes and dreams shattered.

He looked at the balcony, hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, the apparition would be there again. There was nothing – no comforting wave, no familiar figure, just the glint of a destroyed astrolabe on a table.

A call overhead caught his attention; a gryphon descended into the courtyard and landed.

Anduin Lothar looked at Khadgar, who looked back.

“Didn’t think you’d want to hang around here for very long, figured you wouldn’t want to try it on foot or using one of those portal things either. Come on, lad. Let’s get you home and seen to properly.”

Khadgar nodded, then looked up at the tower, and across to where he had laid Medivh, Moroes and Cook to rest. He said nothing, but sighed softly as he awkwardly climbed up behind Lothar, curled his hands around his shoulder and at his belt, and spoke at last. “Thank you. I… wasn’t sure if I had a place, after all this.”

“Of course you do, lad,” Lothar replied, nudging the gryphon into the air. “He wouldn’t want all he’d done with you to be wasted. Not the way he cared for you.” Khadgar was quiet, though it seemed Lothar understood. He turned his head. “No one’ll hear you in the sky, and I won’t tell a soul.”

Khadgar lowered his head, leaned against the warrior and wept.


	2. Chapter 2

Khadgar stood on the rampart facing the bridge, one hand braced against the stone beside him, the other splayed in the air, directing a firestorm in the middle of the bridge. He could hear screaming behind him. He knew that the city had been breached, and he was one of the last few left here.

It was him, two archers and …

One archer and…

Just him.

One of the orcs sneered up and pointed at him. He redirected the firestorm, but found it had diminished. He felt drained.

He suddenly realized he had nothing left; that last firestorm was the last of his strength. He turned to look behind him, heard the shouting, calling for a retreat to the harbor.

He had to buy more time.

He reached, searching for something – somewhere, there had to be an offshoot. This close to the major leylines, there had to be something. Anything.

If there had been, he had drained it already.

A lesson, from what seemed like eons ago, came back to him, and he could hear Medivh’s voice as clearly as though the Magus whispered in his ear.

 _If there are no sources for you to draw on, and you are drained, and you absolutely must do something, there are two things you can do. One is too dangerous to do unless you are willing to sacrifice yourself for whatever it is you do – and it is not something commonly taught because it can be used recklessly in a situation where something lesser will suffice. The other, is to pull from your own body’s resources, and is some of the blackest magic there is… but in times of desperation, it may save you. I will be teaching you both of these things – but you must_ swear to me _here and_ now _that you will not attempt either unless you absolutely have no other choices._

Khadgar drew the sword from the sheath at his hip just enough to slash across one wrist. He drew the runes into his arm with his own blood, and _pulled_.

It was _just_ enough.  A wall of fire sprang up on the bridge, and he poured every ounce of power into it, until his vision swam.

He hoped this counted as ‘desperate enough’, for he did not feel he had the strength or the courage to try the other option. He watched as the orcish Horde railed against the wall, the magical fire burning even when they threw themselves into the water below.

He fell to his knees, blood dripping down his fingertips, the runes smudging. The wall collapsed.

He had nothing more to give.

A hand grabbed his wrist, and he screamed in pain. He felt himself hauled over someone’s shoulder, their shoulder guard digging into his abdomen painfully as he was taken… somewhere.

Voices. He could hear voices. Familiar voices.

“Khadgar! Damn it what have you _done_?!”

“He bought us the time to get the rest here. I saw everything.”

“Get him to a healer before he bleeds out and keep a watch on him.”

Khadgar’s eyes closed.

He could only pray he wouldn’t wake, if only he could see _him_ again.


	3. Chapter 3

Khadgar woke.

He could feel a familiar swaying sensation, and his eyes opened. He was in a cabin on one of Stormwind’s flagships, and he wasn’t alone.

“About time. I was starting to wonder if you were intent on taking one of Medivh’s naps.”

Khadgar turned his head to meet Lothar’s gaze. The warrior smiled and held out a mug to the mage, who took it with both hands, nearly dropping it as he felt his fingers falter on his left hand.

“Easy, lad. You cut tendons, and they’re still healing.” Lothar’s hand moved to steady the mug as Khadgar’s grip adjusted.

Khadgar nodded his thanks, and sipped from the mug. The cold tea seemed to completely cure his dry throat and mouth with just that sip. “I tried,” he murmured.

“I know. There was nothing that could be done. We got you though. For a little while…” Lothar trailed off. “What _possessed_ you to do something like that? What did you even do?”

Khadgar sipped from the mug again, and explained. Lothar’s expression turned from suspicious to understanding. “I swear I… It wasn’t what it looked like.” _At least… not that I will admit._

“But you would have been just fine if it had.” It wasn’t a question. Khadgar shifted uncomfortably. Lothar rested one hand on Khadgar’s shoulder. “Don’t give up on us yet. I know your heart isn’t whole… but you’re all the legacy I…”

Khadgar looked up, and suddenly realized that Lothar was the last of the trio left, and that he had not had a chance to mourn either of those he had lost. And he was the only legacy Medivh had left for him, just as Varian was all he had left of Llane. He set the mug aside, and offered the only comfort he could. With a flicker of his damaged wrist and hand, a pale violet light settled over the door and the walls. “No one will hear you here, and I won’t tell a soul,” he murmured, echoing the same words Lothar had offered him when they had departed Karazhan.

He felt awkward, but it was all he could do – to offer a space where they could both mourn in peace.

And so they did.

 

A little less than a week later, Khadgar’s wrist was back to normal, and he insisted on doing as much as he could. He entertained the children on board, spent time with Varian, kept an eye on the weather, and managed to find time to study. One of the books he had with him was one of Medivh’s journals, and he left it until he had nothing else to read left.

The familiar handwriting, the spiky, slightly stunted script tore at his heart. It was all he had left. Well, apart from a few small things he had managed to tuck away, though they remained in the bottom of his ever-present satchel, wrapped in silk. As he read, he could hear his master’s voice as clearly as though he were just across from him, speaking to him. As he put the book back into his satchel, settling into his cot to sleep, he could still hear that voice.

His eyes opened, and he heard it again – a soft call of his name. He got up, absently slid his slippers on, and pulled a loose robe over his nightshirt and loose pants. He set a tiny light of azure over his head, lighting his way as he moved down the hallway, and to the stairs, following the sound. He was curious. Medivh had never called for him at this hour – unless he went down to his room and did so properly, or when he tried to wake his student when morning arrived and he was already upstairs.

He made his way to the Magus’ study, his head tilting curiously. Medivh was sitting on the balcony, looking up at the stars, though without his astrolabe or notes accompanying him. Khadgar moved closer. Neither spoke, but Medivh held out his hand, pointing up with the other. Khadgar took the outstretched hand, shivering at its chill, and moved to the balcony to look up where his master pointed.

The White Lady was high, the Blue Child just behind. There were several constellations that were blotted out by their brilliance. As they watched, the Blue Child caught up, and slid partially in front of the White Lady, the light dancing oddly as they reflected off one another. Khadgar leaned out, watching.

When he turned back to Medivh, his hand was on the railing – and Medivh was gone, a puddle of vermillion where he had been, cooling and congealing around Khadgar’s hand. He snatched it back with a cry and looked down. The ground was shrouded by fog, the river’s reflection dancing along it.

He stood up on the railing, and leaned forward, arms outstretched.

Something grabbed him around the waist. Someone was calling his name again, this time, it wasn’t Medivh. He turned, and a demonic vision burned his eyes. He fought, knowing that his only escape lay over the railing – and the unforgiving ground below.

Something hit him – slapped him across the face. He lifted his hands, murmuring words he wasn’t even sure were a spell he knew, or one he’d only read and hadn’t tried. He found himself unable to speak, and he struggled as Sargeras’ laughter echoed in his ears.

 

Lothar shook Khadgar’s shoulders, shouting his name again, slapping his face once more. The blue eyes came into focus at last, and the wild, insane look vanished. The mage stopped struggling. He was on the top deck, Lothar had him by the shoulders, and there were several people staring at him, most of them with pity, some in fear. He looked up into the sky. The White Lady was setting. The Blue Child rising. He looked back down at Lothar, who shook his head, leading the confused mage back below. Once they were back in Khadgar’s cabin with the door bolted, he spoke. “You tried to jump the railing.”

“Nightmare,” Khadgar murmured. “I must have been sleepwalking—”

“You realize you’re naked as the day you were born, right?” Lothar raised an eyebrow. Khadgar blushed, shaking his head. “All right then.” Lothar reached to snatch a blanket from Khadgar’s cot, wrapping it around the mage’s shoulders, then pushing him down onto the rest of the bedding. “Start talking. And please… please tell me that I don’t have to lock you in at night.”


	4. Chapter 4

Khadgar flexed his hands, silently cursing that he could do nothing more. He looked up at the dark clouds above him, looked down at the Horde forces and was sorely tempted to try one more bolt. There was a knot of them, just to his left, and if he could just…

He had told Turalyon he could do nothing more. But… perhaps… if…

He slid his sword partway from its sheath, then replaced it. It would do no good, not now. Especially when he just healed from his last.

The point was moot, as the Horde began to retreat. He sighed with relief, and the sky above him cleared. With a heavy sigh, he started towards some of the others – those who were collapsing under wounds that had gone ignored in the heat of combat. It wouldn’t be the first – or the last – time he acted as a field medic.

 

Night descended quickly, and Khadgar found himself covered in blood that was drying stiffly on his skin and his robes. He got to his feet, and stumbled, swearing under his breath. He found himself caught by the elbow by Turalyon. “Steady,” he heard the paladin murmur. “Come on.”

He let his eyes half close as he followed his friend’s guidance, and found himself at the edge of the stream providing the camp with water. He then found himself being methodically divested of his robes, then his shirt, pants, boots and shorts. And then found himself being pushed toward the water. “In.”  The order was soft, but firm. “Before night chills the water as well as the air.”

Khadgar’s eyes snapped open as his feet faltered and he found himself in the stream. He stood up on the gravelly bottom and spluttered. He heard soft laughter on the bank, and turned to look. Turalyon was holding his robes in the current, letting the blood run out of them. The paladin grinned, then tossed the mage a linen pouch, which contained soap. Khadgar grinned back, unable to stay grumpy – especially now that he was cleaner just for having been in the sun warmed water. He moved to a shallow space and washed, tossing the pouch back to the beach to land beside Turalyon when he was through, then ducked under the water. He moved back toward the bank. “Are we the last?”

“You’re the last. You refused to give up, even when others took their turns.” Khadgar grunted softly. “Don’t give me that. Many who are wary of magi – even the others we have with us – see you differently.” Turalyon had spread Khadgar’s surcoat on the grass to dry, and was running his shirt through the current now. “Go. Swim a bit. Or just relax. I’m afraid it’ll take a bit to dry these, and until then, you can hardly go back to camp.”

Khadgar sighed. The water felt like silk against his skin, and though it was cooling, it felt good. He opted to reach out and wrap his hands around a stone near the bank, and float, on his stomach and a safe distance away from where Turalyon held his pants, letting the current wash over him for the moment. “I suppose not. They might all think I’m mad.”

Turalyon snorted. “Several already do. Lothar told me point blank he thought you were, but he liked you that way.” Khadgar smiled, and let his eyes close.

“He would. We’ve been through… a lot together,” Khadgar admitted.

“That’s obvious,” Turalyon murmured. He spread the shirt and pants out, then reached for the robe. “If I didn’t know better, I would have said you were gutted, Khadgar…”

“I almost wish I was,” Khadgar said absently. “Better me than some of those we couldn’t—“

“No.” Turalyon’s voice was sharp. Khadgar’s eyes opened. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I … I wasn’t thinking.” They looked at each other for a moment before Khadgar dropped his eyes, following the wisps of blood running from his robe. There was far too much of it for his comfort. “I’m afraid I… have a … history of diving into trouble.”

Turalyon shifted slightly. He had heard that tone, many times. His eyes lifted from the robe in his hands to Khadgar’s face as the mage shifted, moving closer to the bank and settling himself, cross-legged, just below the waterline. “History?” he prompted.

Khadgar ran a hand through his hair, remembered it was wet, and muttered at it. “I… had to do something unthinkable to most,” he said softly. “I had to … end the life of someone who I cared for, in order for them to find peace.”

“Sometimes, that is the ultimate kindness,” Turalyon replied, turning the robe in his hands. Another wave of blood rushed into the stream. Khadgar visibly winced at it.

“Perhaps so, but… since then I have felt… wrong. As though… I don’t belong.” Khadgar sighed.

“You are near my age, but… your body speaks of an elder.”

“A curse. I… when dealing with the Horde threat, I was forced to face a demon.” Turalyon had a feeling Khadgar wasn’t giving him the entire story, but respected the short version for now. If Khadgar felt he could speak of it, later, he would. “It took me … years… to regain the strength of my true age. For a while, I could not cast more than the most basic of spells without intense preparation. And now, I wonder if… it would have been kinder to have given my own life, instead of taking… his.”

Turalyon pulled the robe out of the water, and gently wrung it out before spreading it. Twilight was fading into true night now, and before he could mention it, a little ball of light appeared over Khadgar’s head, a sparkling azure, though the light it cast was akin to soft lamplight. He looked at Khadgar, and put the pieces together. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “Do you speak of … the great mage you’d had… Medivh, was his name?”

Khadgar turned his head away. “I do.” Before the paladin could ask, he went on. “I was his apprentice.” A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked back at his companion.

“Did he care for you, as you did for him?” Khadgar nodded, his throat too tight to answer. “I’m sure he would not think you out of place. And I am certain he would not thank you for giving your life, if his could not be saved.” Khadgar was silent. Turalyon patted his shoulder. “Let me get you a towel; don’t move.”

His footsteps retreated into the darkness, and Khadgar made a gesture with his fingers, and the light zipped to follow. He could hear the paladin chuckle softly as he thanked the mage.

Khadgar looked up at the inky black sky as the stars began to shine, dotting the darkness with light. His eyes closed, and his tears were hot as they ran down his face. He bit his lip, lowering his head into his hands. After so much time, it still hurt, and hurt badly, when he tried to speak of what happened.

He was not aware of his body stretching out, or that he had shifted into slightly deeper water, though he did when he cupped water into his hands to splash it over his face.

It… it would be so easy… to feign that he had fallen asleep. Tilted to the side. And just…

His body was in motion before the thought had finished, but there was no way to feign his position.

Two sets of footsteps returned at a run as he drew the first breath, torchlight wavering over the ground.

 

He woke, coughing violently, and a voice swearing acidly. “I should have warned you not to leave him by himself. He has a history of trying…”

… a history of …

“Light forgive me,” Turalyon hissed. “He was telling me… and … damn it I didn’t even…”

He wrenched his body to his hands and knees, retching until the water he had drawn into his lungs and stomach had been purged. He turned and sat abruptly, his eyes lifting to meet Lothar’s.

And his world tilted sideways and faded to black.


	5. Chapter 5

Khadgar awoke to a hand threading through his hair. It was dark, though a lighter spot on his eyelids said that there was a fire nearby. The sound of rain tapping canvas told him wherever he was, it was under cover. A voice speaking quietly beside him broke into his observations, and caused him to keep his eyes closed and his breathing even.

“…had no idea. He always seemed so cheerful. Encouraging.” Turalyon.

“He is. But I fear his ordeals over the last couple of years have done damage. He can usually keep his spirits up, but when he is tired or something reminds him, he goes downhill quickly. It is my own fault for not warning you.” Lothar.

He could not tell which of them was stroking his hair, though it seemed like it was the older warrior, whose voice was closer to him.

“I worry that he has not awakened yet.”

The hand paused. “He was exhausted before you dragged him down there.”

“Yes.”

A sigh. The hand resumed. “He drained himself in combat. Then acted as a medic. Then his adrenaline ran out. He will sleep a while longer. I had seen his mentor do the same – though he sometimes slept a day or two before he was fit enough to stand on his own two feet.”

“What are we going to do, Commander? We can’t leave him, and we don’t have more than a day to stay here. We have to keep moving. Alleria’s already having fits that we stopped so early tonight!”

“And we need him. There is no getting around that.” The hand faltered a little.

“Commander?”

Fingertips began brushing against Khadgar’s skin. First his forehead, then his temples. A sigh. “Turalyon, Medivh was my best friend. More than. Llane was my brother in all but blood. I loved them more than … than I can even begin to say. I befriended Khadgar at first to keep an eye on Medivh. The lad.. grew on me. He reminds me a bit of Med when he was young. Headstrong, intelligent, curious to a fault, bright, and you can’t tell me his soul doesn’t shine.”

“No. I cannot. It does, and he is all that you say. He pulls me out of my own dark thoughts when I feel I am not good enough – and yet… this?”

“He may tell you when he’s ready to the reasons. But… most of it stems around Medivh. When we had to take him down… it damaged both of us. We have been flung from conflict to conflict, and neither of us have had a chance to mourn. Not him. Not Llane. Not the countless others who didn’t reach the harbor.” A pause. “Including my sister and my niece.”

A swift intake of breath.

“His first… attempt was up on the ramparts.” A hand lifted his, turning it so the scar was visible. “It was a desperate move for more power to give us more time.”

“Noble, but insane.”

“Yes.” His hand was set down, gently. “But it did buy us those few moments, and someone saw him, realized who he was and that he was ‘important’, and got him away before it could be fatal. After that I realized what I was dealing with. In an ideal world, I would have the leisure to. But none of us do. I fear… I fear this won’t be the last time he tries. And I’m not sure we’ll always be there to stop him. He blames himself for things he had no control over.”

“And tries to atone by offering himself in … Medivh you said? In his place?”

Silence.

“I had not realized how rightly he comes by that silver hair. He bears burdens far too heavy for one his age.”

“As Medivh did. Khadgar is all the legacy of my best friend I have. And I will be damned to the Fel before I let him go the same way I did Medivh.”

If the others noticed the tears running across Khadgar’s temples, they said nothing.

 

Khadgar shook wet hair from his eyes, shifted the grip on his staff and jabbed into the orc trying to sneak up on his side before shifting his knees’ grip on the barrel of his horse. His mount pivoted, kicking the orc in the face, even as Khadgar slashed to his right with his sword. He snarled a little, tossing his head again. Perhaps the storm wasn’t the best idea, but at least it put out every fire that had marred the forest. The problem was, it took all he had to call it.

He chanced a glance at Turalyon, who seemed to be talking with Alleria. When had she returned? He thrust his sword through an orc’s throat as he watched the two converse, and Alleria vanished from sight. He could only hope she was bringing reinforcements. It didn’t seem to matter how many they killed, the Horde forces just kept coming at them.

His adrenaline was running out – he could feel the ache in his arms and legs even as he continued to fight. Another glance at Turalyon showed him that the paladin was stunned. He snarled again, kneed his mount to Turalyon’s side and started admonishing him for losing focus.

And Turalyon pointed out what had distracted him.

An ogre mage. A damnable, bloody, absolutely-not-a-good-time-to-be-here ogre mage. The string of curses that left his mouth startled Turalyon, and he realized he probably could have made Lothar blush were he with them. Medivh would likely either have applauded his creativity or boxed his ears.

How was he going to counter _that_ when he had nothing left? It wasn’t an option. It simply wasn’t an option.

“Khadgar,” Turalyon snapped warningly. “Don’t even think about it – whatever you’re thinking about.”

Khadgar squinted, ignoring the paladin. There were arrows stuck in the ogre’s hide. No – not arrows. Spears! Elven-made spears!

If he could just…

“Khadgar? _Khadgar!”_

He could do it. It wouldn’t take much. The ambient energies around him would be enough. Before Turalyon could stop him, he was raising the staff, his eyes fixed on the ogre, thinning its skin, draining away its defenses.  It fell, and fell hard, and he smiled as Turalyon tried to see what was going on.

“My people have reached us!” Khadgar heard Alleria’s voice, though it felt like he heard her from under water.

He lost track of things for a time, until he felt a shield collide painfully with his arm, and snapped his head to look at Turalyon, who was ordering a retreat, panic in his eyes.

The dragon was a Red, and the flame it was breathing was consuming all he had worked to save. He looked up at the clouds and sighed heavily as he kneed his mount to head to safer ground with the others.

Alleria was frantic, but there was nothing any of them could do. He was exhausted, and he didn’t dare pull another stunt, not with Turalyon staring at him so hard he felt as though he might have holes through his chest. Instead, he, as well as the others, simply watched the forest burn as they headed back south to the target they had been drawn away from: Capital City.

 

The pincer maneuver was working. Though his magical abilities were held in reserve, Khadgar fought like a demon incarnate with both blade and staff, taking his frustration of the past several days out on every target that presented itself. They had to keep the bridge clear, or the Capital would be overrun as easily as Stormwind had.

Turalyon, though his mind was focused on his task, was relieved that Khadgar did not do anything stupid. He had been terrified that his friend would have fallen back into despair after their loss in Quel’thalas, but it seemed as though the mage had been riled, and in that state, he was more of a force to be reckoned with. Without magic.

It was a rarity, a wizard with a blade, but it appeared as though Khadgar didn’t care about getting his robes covered in orc innards. He detected a bit of Lothar’s teaching in the way Khadgar moved, and couldn’t help admiring it.

He brought his shield up and clipped an orc in the face before driving his sword through its chest, then turned again to check on the mage.

But the mage was gone. He had moved out farther, the calm blue of his eyes deceptive, and Turalyon cursed himself for not having seen it before now. It appeared that though he seemed to have stopped trying to take his own life, he was offering it on a silver platter to the six trying to pry him off his horse, though one of them was missing an eye and two were bleeding heavily.

… and one lost its head entirely.

Others had come to take their place, recognizing the mage for what he was. He swore, realizing he would never reach them in time. His heart sank as he saw Khadgar scream with pain, saw blood welling along one side of his robes, saw him turn and drive his staff into the offender’s face. The mage jerked, turned, swung his blade at another.

And as Turalyon fought to reach Khadgar’s side, he saw a huge, green hand wrap around one of Khadgar’s legs, and pull.

 

Khadgar snarled and whipped around, jabbing his blade into the arm attached to the hand, but he was off balance. He fought to remain mounted; it was the only thing keeping him equal with them. But he knew death when he saw it. He closed his eyes and went limp, sliding from his horse’s back.

He heard a scream behind him, recognized it as Turalyon’s, and landed hard on his knees, dropping his blade and staff at the same moment. Survival was … only slightly less important. He threw out his hands, and a ring of flames spread from where he knelt. It bought him enough time to drive his fingers into his own wounds, writing the runes in his own blood on the ground for something more.

Regardless of his own safety, Capital City must not fall. The bridge… was more important than the life of a failure.

_Forgive me, Medivh._

As he called the power to his hands, he felt a tingling along his spine, as each of his nerves seemed to be set aflame. A detached part of him wondered if they would die before the spell completed, blasting everything in this area to nothing, scouring the ground and killing every non-ally within his range. He had that much control at least. Only problem was – he was the epicenter of it all, and would be the source.

 

_Medivh paced, slowly, frowning. “A last resort that will never fail is … well.” He looked at Khadgar, standing with his hands folded behind his back, waiting patiently. “It has come to be called that, interestingly enough. Last Resort. It will destroy everything around you in a radius of however much power you have left, which by then shouldn’t be much. Either way, unless your enemy, or enemies, know exactly what you are doing, there is little chance of their escape. Now, you have seen quite a few explosions in your time, I’m sure – mostly of the physical nature involving gunpowder, yes?”_

_Khadgar nodded._

_“Well, this is … a bit more dramatic a thing, as it is arcane in nature – rather than fire. Destruction will occur, don’t think it won’t – but it will primarily be less a sphere and more of a dome. Out and up, rather than down – though there will be a crater where you stood. So if you need to adjust, do so before you begin, if you can. If you cannot, hopefully your target is worth more than what you destroy.”_

_Khadgar nodded again. “How much destruction is there likely to be?”_

_Medivh eyed his student for a long moment. “Come outside.”_

_Once they stood in the courtyard, Medivh placed a device on the ground, then backed away, pulling Khadgar to a safe distance. A moment of concentration placed a shield around them, around the device, and then…_

_Khadgar screamed, cowering as the light seared his eyes. He shielded them with his arm, turning away. He felt heat, though it was nothing compared to what must be contained outside where they stood, within the glowing blue dome over the device. A hand brushed his shoulder, and he looked back. And paled, his eyes widening._

_Where a garden patch had once been was scoured to stone, deeply enough for him to stand in. The ground in the dome crackled and sparked with arcane, and grass, flowers and ground shifted in and out of reality along the edges of it. The heat waves rose lazily from the center, proving that what he felt had not been his imagination._

_“Light’s mercy…”_

_“Instead of a device, Khadgar, that would be the mage casting the spell.” He looked at Khadgar, his green eyes dark with severity. “And there would be nothing left of that mage. If you are prepared to cast the spell, you must be prepared to die.”_

 

Heartbeats ticked by as he calmed his breathing. He was far enough away from the walls to keep them safe. The bridge likely would be gone, but… a bridge could be rebuilt. He felt for the life of every one of their allies and began weaving enough protections to keep them safe from the impending destruction. Their attackers began to falter in confusion, and he could feel their morale rise.

He smiled slightly, knowing that he could at least save them, while destroying every orc on the battlefield.

“No! No you don’t!” Something heavy collided with his head, making him see stars, and everything he had done broke. He looked up to see Turalyon, staring down at him. “Lothar warned me you would do something like this,” he growled, deliberately running his sword-tip through the runes. “You’re injured, and while you were guarding us, they retreated. Now come on, there’s a good mage.” He pulled Khadgar up, and started towards the healers. “We’re not done yet – you need to get patched up. This isn’t over yet!”

Khadgar sighed, and shook his head. “Plan?”

“We go after them.”


	6. Chapter 6

Khadgar couldn’t sleep. He was not officially on watch – which was good, considering he was staring into the flames of the campfire blankly. Though it had been Turalyon who reached Lothar first, the mage had been lost the moment he realized what was happening. He stayed long enough to know for certain the man would not rise again, and had gone recklessly to aid others in driving off the remainder, capturing and killing.

And he still sat here, having failed what he went to accomplish.

His eyes burned, but he dared not shed tears – not here. The others… wouldn’t understand. Turalyon would – considering what had happened, but he and Alleria wandered off. Khadgar tried to smile; Turalyon would be all right, as long as Alleria was with him.  He would come through all this just fine. He hoped.

He pulled his knees against his chest, hugging them. He wasn’t so sure about himself. On one hand, there were no further reminders. On the other…

He closed his eyes tightly. This was no time for nonsense.

He stood up and returned to his tent, pulled his boots off and his surcoat and cloak, rolling them to use as a pillow. He settled into his bedroll and waved a hand to darken the crystal on the end of his staff, leaning against the canvas beside the entrance flap. He knew he probably wouldn’t sleep much, if at all.

Anduin Lothar had been the last link he’d had to his mentor, friend, and lover. It seemed as though the few he could count on for support in his bad times were dwindling. He turned over, closing his eyes. He hadn’t been there. Just as he had been too late to stop Garona from taking King Llane, he was too late to save Lothar.

Turalyon had rallied, and in the space of heartbeats, had risen to be everything that Lothar knew he had in him, and everything Khadgar had seen as well. On the other end of the spectrum, Khadgar had gone numb. Mostly between the ears as he’d gone off to the west and south. He shivered, though there was no chill in the air – the area around Blackrock Mountain was quite warm. He kicked off one of his blankets as he turned onto his other side, facing away from the entrance to his tent and shivered again.

When he did fall asleep, he knew he had – mostly because he was dreaming. A white raven settled beside him, spoke to him words he could not hear, but could feel. Something large and furry nuzzled under one of his arms, and he could feel a low rumble as it seemed to speak as well. His eyes lowered to find a large feline, looking at him with blue eyes. He blinked, then looked at the raven, whose green eyes regarded him a long moment.

A loud clanging noise woke him with a start, and he heard laughter. The walls of his tent were lighter. He sighed, turned over again, and stared out at the campfire he had left. It blurred as he felt the tears he had repressed earlier returned to prickle at his eyes. Something warm was at his back, though he looked and saw nothing. He fell back to sleep, crying silently, mourning the loss to not only the Alliance, but to himself.

 

Weeks later, he found himself in a similar position, though this time, he was on watch. He may have been staring into the flames of a campfire, but his senses were extended across the camp. He earned a few looks from some of the patrolling soldiers, but most of them knew what he was and what he was capable of. A sigh broke his gaze, and he realized he had been joined. “Not patrolling, lad?”

Khadgar smiled slightly. “I am. Just not physically.” His eyes shifted from the flames to the dwarf who handed him a waterskin, which he accepted with a grateful nod. He sipped and found the water warm, but it eased his throat nonetheless. “So far, all is quiet, and the scouts have not returned.”

Brann looked around, then made a quiet noise. “That’s good ta hear at least.”

“I didn’t know you were on watch,” Khadgar lifted an eyebrow at the dwarf.

“Ah, I’m not. I cannae sleep. Kept thinkin’ about this rock, an’ what ye said earlier, about this bein’ marshland. Tryin’ ta reconcile th’ two.” He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the sky.

“Considering it’s not as though it has been scoured, you mean?” Khadgar asked quietly.

“Aye.”

Khadgar was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Ye mentioned that, aye.” Brann turned to look at the mage, one hand stroking his beard. “Ye dinnae wanna talk about it.”

“No,” Khadgar sighed. Perhaps it was time to say something. Muradin had said his brother was an explorer. Perhaps he’d understand. “I’ll need to consult some of the others, and those in Dalaran, but…” He took another drink before he went on. “In a vision, I saw another world, where the land was like this. Red, dusty and dead, under a sky of blood with a red sun.”

Brann raised an eyebrow, though said nothing for a long moment. “An’ ye think it’s similar?”

“I have a theory,” Khadgar sighed. “If I am right, we’re in more trouble than I want to think about.”

Brann nodded, slowly. “I meant what I said before, lad. In the time I’ve known you, ye’ve never let us down.” Khadgar turned to look at him, his eyes showing his confusion in the firelight. “The others. They follow ye, as they do T’ralyon. As they did… Lothar.” He eyed the mage for a long moment. “Whoever named ye, lad, they named ye well.”

“What do you mean?”

Brann grinned at him. “Yer a mage. I figure ye know languages an’ how they work, aye?” Khadgar nodded. “Khadgar means ‘trust’ – not in a way that says ‘I trust ye’ – but in the way that invites it. Trustworthy. Entrusted. I don’ mean t’ say you don’t trust others, ‘cause ye put yer life in our hands of’en enough when yer doin’ the hand-wavy stuff. But th’ others… They trust in _you_. Ye’ll lead us right, lad.”

Khadgar turned back to the fire, and Brann watched him. Khadgar swallowed, blinking at the flames. “Thank you, Brann,” he said softly. His head lifted. “The watch is changing,” he said softly. Sure enough a few moments later, a young soldier came over to let them know that very thing.

As he let his vigil fade, he withered, visibly. Brann reached over and patted the mage’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, lad.”

Khadgar passed the waterskin back to the dwarf as he stood. “You should do the same,” he said quietly.

“Aye, I’ll do that. Mornin’ comes too damn soon.”

As Khadgar returned to his tent, he mulled the dwarf’s words over in his mind, and wondered if he deserved his name at all.

 

It wasn’t until he saw the Portal itself that he realized there was no way he was going to be able to bring it down. He could feel the same of the other mages that stood on the ridge with him, staring into the valley as Turalyon and the others fought what was left of the orcish forces.

He was faced with two options. He could admit that they could not bring it down, or he could kill himself – and probably the others – trying.

_When faced with two options, always choose the third._

Khadgar smiled. One of the other mages caught it, and stared at him. “You have a plan?”

“I think so. _We_ may not have the power to take that thing down, but _it_ does.” He quickly explained what he meant – the Dark Portal itself had a power source, part of which came from Draenor, part of which came from Azeroth. A part of it had been set by someone he knew quite well – and he was sure that this, or something like this – was thought of at that time. At least he hoped so.

The other mages began to pull power from the air around the portal, taking the latent energies as they spilled. Khadgar dove into the portal itself, recklessly tapping it directly, even as the others fed him. He reached what he could handle, and then kept pulling. A sense of peace descended on him as he did, feeling the fabric of his own being begin to unravel.

He closed his eyes, feeling the spell he created above him, between his outstretched hands, seeing it well enough without having to see it with his eyes. His hands trembled as he continued to push the limits of his body.

He left himself the strength to send the spell, his eyes opening only so he could be sure he aimed it directly at the center. As it lanced the energies of the Dark Portal itself, even though it was born mostly from its own energies, the Portal did not seem to take well to it. The explosion of light made Khadgar wince away, even as the matrices of the thing collapsed in on themselves.

The explosion had shattered the stone frame, and the fragments hung in the air for a heartbeat before they were pulled into the imploding portal spell. There was a deafening silence as Khadgar looked down, praying the others had gotten far enough away – he didn’t think he’d seen bodies being pulled in, but…

“I don’t think they’ll be using that thing again!” Turalyon called up to him.

Khadgar’s shoulders sank with relief, and he laughed. He heard other shouts, as though from under water, as the ground very suddenly came up and introduced itself painfully with his face.

 

“…again – seriously, I swear that he’s more trouble than he’s worth!” Khadgar recognized that healer. He sighed, mentally. If he could hear and recognize the healer, it meant that he was alive. Before he could regret that, the pain set in. It was both physical and metaphysical, and he heard his own voice as it whimpered with it.

“Well?”

“He’s practically burned himself out – the other mages tell me he was fading up there, and they were too embroiled with whatever they were doing to get him to stop.”

“Well, it was effective.”

The healer sighed at Turalyon. “I’m sure you have better things to do than to fuss over an idiot mage, Commander.”

“I don’t actually. This idiot mage is rather important to me. And I have an obligation to see that he lives and is well.” The healer snorted, but Turalyon cut him off. “If you want to question Anduin Lothar’s orders, be my guest.”

The healer went very still, then a hand brushed Khadgar’s forehead. “What could possibly be so important about this old man?”

Whether or not the question was answered, Khadgar did not know. He had fallen unconscious once more, falling into the comforting darkness and embracing it.


End file.
